


Will/Molly Tumblr Drabbles

by OneHandedBooks



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Angst, Domestic Fluff, F/M, Love, Missing Scenes, Season/Series 03, mild bondage
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-05
Updated: 2016-12-05
Packaged: 2018-09-06 15:28:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,092
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8758474
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OneHandedBooks/pseuds/OneHandedBooks
Summary: Two drabbles prompted by this picture of Will and Molly in bed http://bit.ly/2gEYTGb and a reader's comment.





	1. Chapter 1

“Is this ok?” Molly whispered, wrapping each scarf tight around Will’s wrists, pinning them to the pinewood staves of the headboard.

Will pulled cautiously against the soft, plaid, mohair fabric. “Yeah,” he whispered back. “It’s fine.”

Molly wriggled her fingers underneath the gentle bindings, sliding them between the scarves and the thin delicate skin of Will’s wrists. “Not too tight?”

Will gazed up at her and gave her a light, encouraging smile. “Nope.”

Molly sat back on her heels and looked him over. Her body shimmered in the glow of the deep orange firelight, her shadow wavering black against the rough-hewn cabin wall. Her hair flowed over her smooth shoulders in backlit gold. She bit her lip, her nose scrunching up in anxious thought.

“What is it?” Will asked.

“Nothing,” she sighed, blowing her bangs out of her eyes. “Wish we’d had, like, _silk_ scarves or something fancy instead of winter scarves is all.”

Will chuckled and rotated his wrists against the fabric again. “At least these are nice and soft.”

Molly looked at him out of the corner of her eye, at the makeshift restraints around his wrists, at the lovely lean line of his body pulled taut along their warm bed. She swallowed hard and giggled nervously behind her hand. “Now what?”

Will laughed, warm and easy. “What do you mean, now what? This was your idea, Molly. Now you do whatever you want, I guess.”

Molly slid her hand gently over Will’s bare chest. “What if I do…” She trailed off uncertainly.

“…something I don’t want you to do?” Will finished.

“Yeah.”

Will shook his head, grinning. “I really doubt that. But I’ll tell you if it happens.” He bent his leg and prodded her bare thigh with his knee. “Come on, Molly. What do you want? Tell me.”

The last words echoed unexpectedly in his mind in Hannibal’s commanding cadence. He flinched and batted them away, turning his focus back to his wife.


	2. Chapter 2

Will tumbled through the front door in a happy wave of wriggling dogs. Their new Great Dane puppy raced through his legs into the warm cabin, knocking into his knee and sending him shoulder-first into the door frame. Cold winter air swirled around him, dusting his hair with snow and blowing a little sheaf of crystalline white across the living room floor.

He heard Molly’s high tinkling laugh from the kitchen where she was doling out homemade dog food along with a sturdy mix of praise and admonitions. “Good girl” and “get down!” and “you know that’s not your bowl!” 

He smiled and leaned panting against the doorframe, waiting for Molly to come around the corner, angling for a little sympathy.

Molly looked him over and laughed again, one eyebrow raised. “You know you need to keep the little one on a leash until she’s better behaved. I have no sympathy for you.”

Will sighed and closed the door behind him, shutting out the cold. “That _little one_ is going to be as big as a horse someday. She’s already almost as strong as one. I can barely hold her on the leash with all the other dogs rumbling around.”

“Walter and I will walk with you next time. We‘ll take the pack and you can take the horse.”

“Oh, thanks. Big help.”

“Hey, you were the one who wanted to rescue her from the breeder.”

“No point in training her,” Will grumbled amiably. “Someone’s going to adopt her. And soon. We’re not keeping her.”

“A likely story,” Molly replied with fond skepticism.

She brushed his hair back from his face and stepped into the circle of his arms. Unwrapped the soft plaid wool scarf from his throat then leaned in and pressed her warm lips to his neck. Will shivered at the feeling of the fuzzy fabric sliding over his throat, tugging tight for a moment as she pulled the scarf away, then the shockingly hot touch of her tongue on his chilled skin. He swallowed hard and waited for more, but Molly just backed away and smiled at him.

“Dinner soon, ok? We have that leftover roast. Red potatoes.”

Will nodded, a little unsteady. “Yeah. Sounds good.”

After dinner, Will worked on a new set of flies. Close to hand was a small fan of elk’s hair he’d found caught in a pine branch down by the frozen lake, good for trout. Molly tuned in to _Invisibillia_ and brought out her striped knitting basket. She curled up in the worn plaid armchair by the fire. Piled her hair comfortably on top of her head so it would stay out of her eyes and secured it with a short knitting needle. 

For a long time there was silence. Just the clicketyclack of Molly’s needles and the faint squeak of the old chair as she rocked slightly with the rhythm of the stitches. The crackling of the hard white oak burning merrily in the sooty stone fireplace. The low hum of _Invisibilia_ ’s hosts talking about synesthesia and the occasional fuzz of static as the snowstorm interfered with the radio. Dogs snoring, claws scrabbling at the pinewood floor in dreamy sleep. Will humming under his breath as he wrapped a little fall of tan string around a fluster of elk’s hair, slid the pointed bodkin down, and finished the knot. 

He was vaguely aware of Molly leaving the room at some point. Her footsteps tracing from living room to bathroom to kitchen. A clatter of pans. The dull snug of the refrigerator door closing. Cabinets snicking open and shut. A gurgle of liquid and the hush of sugar falling. Steel scraping ceramic. 

Molly returned with two mugs of hot chocolate, set Will’s at his elbow, and kissed the top of his bent head in easy affection. Will smiled absently, his mind still far away and fishing.

When he was finished with the lure, he leaned back in his chair and stretched broadly. His back and shoulders and sternum snapping and popping in a satisfying fashion. He glanced over at Molly, brow crinkling in mild surprise at the froth of gossamer pink yarn in her lap.

“What are you working on over there?”

“Scarf,” Molly said with a sly little smile, still gazing down at the cloud of finespun fabric uncoiling delicately from the ends of her needles. 

Will blushed,unconsciously rubbing his thumb against the thin sensitive skin of his wrist.

“You don’t wear pink.”

Molly looked up at him then, her smile wider, a little blush painting her own cheeks.

“It isn’t for me.”


End file.
